


Midnight

by FireRadiant



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireRadiant/pseuds/FireRadiant
Summary: Junkrat has a small existential crisis when he's asked to kiss someone on New Years Eve.





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I've only played the game a handful of times, so if people seem OOC forgive me.
> 
> Also, 'she' doesn't have a name on purpose, 'twas an artistic choice. Fill in your name if you wish, though its not really in 'x reader' format.
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy!

9:00pm

It’s Roadhog’s fault.

But then, when isn’t it? Big drongo’d been s’damn excited for the great big Overwatch shindig. Stupid bloke sitting in between the Gimli- wannabe and the ice princess looking as happy as a… well a hog in shit. Staring at the decorations like he’d got lost in fairyland. Bouncing a little with the music that Lucio’s been playing ever since they arrived.

There’d be a giant fuckin’ smile behind that shined-up mask he was wearin’.

Junkrat sat, alone at his own table, in, of all the fuckin’ things _slacks_ , courtesy of the good DJ. And a button-up shirt. And a fuckin’ _tie_.

Granted, he’d ripped the right leg off as soon as Roadhog left the room. He refused to wear the sleek prosthetics Vaswani and the doc had made for him. He’d made the damn things, he was gonna wear _his_ , thank you very much Team Ms. Perfect Hair, and they didn’t quite fit with _slacks_.

The tie drapes across his shoulders like a dead snake.

What? He was _wearin’_ it, wasn’t he?

 

9:20pm

Junkrat slithers down in his chair, arms crossed, glaring at the cheery room.

He likes parties. _Junker_ parties.

This sorry shitshow wasn’t a party. Sure, all the Overwatch volunteers, the folks what made the Watchpoint run and took care of the business of things in-between fightin’ were here, makin’ for a right interestin’ crowd. Even 76 seemed a little looser, not quite as tight-assed. I mean, he was in the middle of the room, standin’ and glarin’, not in the corner standin’ and glarin’ as usual. Talking to Ana, maybe even smiling. The food tables were overflowing. People were laughin’. It… it wasn’t bad.

Still.

After 9pm and no tits out? Hell, this was a knitting circle.

“I see Roadhog’s got you to wear a tie.” A familiar, lilting voice says above him.

Junkrat smiles involuntarily and turns his head. His eyes pop as he catches sight of her, quite a bit more of her than he’s used to seeing.

“Well, Happy fuckin’ New Year to _me_.” He says, unashamedly drinking in the sight of her. “Never thought I’d see you in a dress.”

It’s a strapless number, a little flouncy. Cut a few inches above the knees. Cute.

“Never thought I’d see you take a _bath_.” she scoffs, her eyes sparkling in a way that lets him know she’s playing.

She joins him at the table.

“I’m not going to make a habit of it. Not my specialty.”

He peers under the table where her legs are demurely crossed out in front of her, getting as much of an eyeful of the way her toes point in her heels as he can.

“Coulda fooled me.” He says, tongue ghosting over his lips, maybe accidently, maybe on purpose.

She smacks him in the arm and he decides, yeah on purpose. He does it again just to see her eyes do that narrowing thing.

“Bored?” She asks dryly.

“How’dya know?”

“You’re annoying me for fun.” She tries and fails not to smile at him. “It’s not that bad, is it? Lucio’s got good music going.”

“Eugh.” Junkrat sighs, crossing his arms on top of the table and perching his head on top. “It’s a fuckin’ suit party.”

He glares when she giggles.

“A what now?” She asks.

“A fuckin’ suit party.” He repeats. “You know, everybody standing around, talking, eatin’ little barely-two-bites food. Makin’ nice. Talkin’ small. There’s a full fuckin’ bar that nobody but McCree is takin’ advantage of!”

“And me.” She comments, holding up her glass of something on the rocks as evidence. “Figure I’d better. Who knows if this’ll be here next New Years?”

“Cheery thought. Share the wealth.” He says and reaches for the glass.

She deftly moves it out of his range.

“Oh no, we’ve all been warned.” She says with a decidedly evil smile.

Junkrat groans again and throws his arm out, sinking spread eagle down in his chair.

“The whole world’s against me.” He huffs. “I can’t set of the ‘works until midnight, and I can’t even drink to bide my time.”

“And a bored Junkrat is a dangerous Junkrat.” She says quietly, rolling the glass between her hands.

“Exactly!” He says. “See, I knew you were a smart sheila.”

“What if I give you something to think about?” She says coyly, her eyes looking a little dangerous.

That should have been his clue.

Instead his eyebrow raises and he looks her up and down one more time.

“Depends on what you’re givin’,” He replies slyly with a lascivious grin.

“You could take bets on who’s going to kiss who at midnight.” She says.

“Oh please.” He says, disappointed as he settles back in his chair. “Nobody actually does that.”

“Mmm I disagree.” She said, her eyes sliding over the room. “My money’s on Genji and Dr. Zeigler, definitely, although they’ll be discrete about it. And McCree’s either going for Ana or if he gets enough liquor in him to get over himself, Arrow Boy.”

Junkrat snorts.

“McCree and Grandma? I’ll pay money to see it.”

“More than _Hanzo_?”

“Please, the way they moon at each other they’re prolly already fuckin’.” He says with a dismissive wave. “No fun in seein’ ‘em kiss.”

He leans forward excitedly.

“Who ya got in mind for me?” He grins ferally. “Personally I’d go for that fine redhead ‘a Tracer’s.”

He meant it as a joke, but she’s quiet for a moment, watching him with a very, very strange look in her eyes and an almost imperceptible smile playing over her lips.

 

9:25 pm

“You want to kiss me at midnight?” She asks, her eyes suddenly all shy and hopeful mixed with a very sly, dangerous bit of know-it-all that Junkrat falls into like it’s one of his own steel traps.

He can’t remember if he’s answered her.

But she moves away from the table with a strange sway in her hips, one he’s never seen before and he swallows, his throat amazingly dry.

Oh, yeah. His mind was definitely occupied now.

 

9:28 pm

You want to kiss me at midnight? It plays in his head like a broken record.

 

9:34 pm

You want to kiss me at midnight?

 

9:36 pm

You want to kiss me at midnight?

 

9:37 pm

It was a stupid fuckin’ thing to ask. Who fuckin’ _asks_ that?

She does, apparently. Blinkin’ those stupid wishy-washy blue eyes, and poutin’ with that stupid, red-lipped mouth.

Hot red. Lipstick red.

He wouldn’t do it. He’d smudge the lipstick, for one. Fancy suit sheilas didn’t like it when you fussed up their stupid makeup.

And it would get on him, for another!

Nah, he wasn’t going to do it.

Nah.

No way.

 

9:55pm

“Whatever you want to do, mate.”

“Oi thanks, Hog. That’s a help.”

Junkrat prepares to take a swig of the pitifully weak (by Junker standards) whiskey he’s swiped when Roadhog firmly takes the bottle from his hand.

“Fireworks,” He reminds the smaller man, his gruff voice decidedly amused.

Junkrat groans and puts his head on the table.

Yeah, he’d forgotten that. He was in charge. The old man had forbidden the drinking until _after_ the ‘works went up. Then he was free to get sloshed as he wanted and go hunting for whatever long-legged lay happened to be available. Non-blue-eyed. Hell, maybe he’d have a bloke tonight, he was feeling like being a little rough. Some of the boys in here look like they’d go, if he went about askin’ the right way.

Junkrat’s rigged a banger of a show, if he did say so himself. Spritzers and screamers and fountains and big-boomers and a few not-quite-legal creations of his own that 76 and Winston have pointedly looked over if he agreed not to touch a drop until after he hit the detonator.

He _had_ been looking forward to it.

Now he just wants to drink. Forget the question that was still bouncing around his head like a jack-in-the-box out of its box.

Like a little version of himself, taunting taunting taunting.

She’s on the dancefloor with Hana and Lena. Oh yeah those three are real buddy-buddy in their strappy dresses and shimmery heels and stupid makeup. She towers over Hana, and dwarfs Lena by an inch or two.

Was she wearing perfume when she asked him? He definitely hadn’t noticed.

Stupid sheila and her stupid flower-smelling hair.

“Rrrrrrgh!” He growls, lifting onto his elbows and clasping both sides of his head. “What the hell’s she want ta kiss me for anyway?”

 

10:22 pm

They _work_ together, for chrissake.

He pounds his head lightly against the wall above the urinal. He’s alone with his thoughts.

Never a good thing for a Junker.

I mean, it’s not like she was one of the _team_ , but still. Saw her nearly every day. At work. Worked together. Professional relationship, like. He and Hog, (for better or worse) are in Overwatch now. Under the microscope. 76 and the monkey watching their backs to make sure the wrong thing didn’t get blown up.

Doc’s arranged classes for them. Physical therapy type stuff. Exercise bullshit.

She’s one of the trainers, and she’s a mean one. She doesn’t let up when he’s panting so hard he thinks his lungs are going to burst.

‘Do it again, Fawkes. Your form is terrible, Fawkes, you’re going to hurt yourself. Look, if you’re not comfortable doing it with me then get McCree or Hanzo over here and you can practice the throw on them.’

Hand-to-hand combat. Close proximity. Not that he has an aversion to hitting girls but they’re all so much bigger than she is.

And she bruises like a damn peach.

What kind of delicate sheila takes a job trainin’ buffed-up superfreaks when she bruises at the drop of a hat? Junkrat swears he looked at her funny once and a purple mark splashed across her skin right before his eyes.

Or was that the day Hog let him take a hit off his new mix?

Nah, nah it was a Tuesday.

Comin’ in every day lookin’ like she’s been chewed on by the worst vampire this side of Aus. Toothless vampire, makin’ bruises insteada bites.

‘Fawkes! Get your ass moving, my lazy ass cat can punch faster than you!’

Mouthy little sheila.

Mouthy.

Red lips. Fuck.

“Partner, you been shaking that thing for a good two minutes and I’m starting to get real uncomfortable,” McCree’s voice cut in dryly from two urinals over. “Don’t you have a room you can do that in?”

“Oi, fuck off cowboy!” Junkrat seethes, pulling his sagging drawers up again. “I’ve got a lot on my mind!”

“…I’m sure ya do.”

 

10:31 pm

Oi, when did they bring out cheese dip?!

 

10:36 pm

What was I talkin’ about?

Hooley dooley they’ve got _TimTams_!

…Where’s the fuckin’ milk?

 

11:12 pm

One very long rant and a short motorcycle jaunt later…

“I’m tellin’ ya, what limp-brained cow-eyed suit-sucking drongo serves TimTams without _milk_? It’s enough to drive a bloke insane… Ooh, gummy worms! Oi, Roadie, let’s get outta here before the coppers show up! What? Eh… no offense, Hog, but we aren’t close enough for you to be pickin’ out m’ lube for me, ya know? Huh? No, I’ve got plenty, why?… what do you mean ‘I gotta think of the lady’? What lady, you ain’t makin’ sense – Ah crap, cops! Run, mate!”

 

11:38pm

“I’m tellin’ ya, _cold_ _milk_ , Roadie.” Junkrat says, shaking the chocolate wafer cookie at him. “Hot milk for a TimTam Slam is just irresponsible.”

They’ve cornered the market on TimTams. The table is piled high with them, and Junkrat is completely content until she walks by the table with Hana and swipes a cookie. She bites the corners and dips it into her glass of something creamy, Baileys maybe,  and sucks the beverage through the wafer. Junkrat stares at her, at those red lips wrapped around the cookie.

She takes a bite of the TimTam and offers the rest to Hana, who accepts it at first with disdain, her expression morphing into joy.

“See? I told you.” She says, grabbing a handful of the cookies. “Thanks, boys.”

She drops a wink that Junkrat knows is for much more than the cookies and wanders off.

Hana eyes Junkrat and then scampers after her, saying something rapidly in Korean. The other girl laughs as Junkrat stares down her retreating form.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

 

11:42 pm

Her muscles are too big.

Junkrat stares at her across the dance floor as she and Hana dance with Lucio, both of them increasingly tipsy. He’s glaring, actually, his hands tabled flat in front of her face, his eyebrows drawn enough to make hairy clouds at the top of his vision. TimTam wrappers surround him at the table. Roadhog has left him. Big lug’s _dancing_.

Too big from all that stupid fighting. He didn’t like girls with big muscles. Boys, yes. Girls, no. Hers made her shoulders bulge out over the top of her stupid flouncy florally dress that she shouldn’t be wearing because damnit she’s not the type. And her legs, sheesh, she could strangle Roadie with those chunky things. No way, he likes long lean legs with a nice big pair of tits he can squeeze on all night. Nice tall sheila who’s got just enough brains to know how to tease a little but not enough to figure out how to get him really melting.

…what was he thinking about? Oh yeah, the mouthy, muscly, stupid sheila.

Nah, he’d rather kiss Winston than her. Yep.

…What does Lucio think he’s doing dancin’ on her like that? Oi, Hana is _right_ _there_ why can’t he just dance with her?

…She’s smiling at him. She’s enjoying it.

Stupid muscly sheila. Stupid DJ. Stupid Junkrat not being able to drink and get drunk enough to not wait ‘til midnight and just sweep her up all romantic-like and show her what a bad idea it is to kiss him at all and-

“You’re staring, luv,” Lena’s voice is suddenly very loud on his left.

It wasn’t precisely true. What he _had_ been doing was groping for a frag launcher that wasn’t there. He relents and leans back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on the trio (lies, on the couple) on the dancefloor.

“What’s it to you?” He sneers.

Lena has a weird little smile playing over her face that he doesn’t like. She sips her wine without taking her eyes off him.

“You know… It’s not always easy, telling somebody how you feel.” She says, talking all conspiratorial-like.

Like they’re _friends_ or something.

 “Sometimes you just have to _show_ them.” She says, and winks pretty as you please.

Junkrat stares at her for a moment.

“What the _hell_ are you on about?” He asks.

She leans forward and pats his mechanical arm.

“You could, say, ask to kiss your special someone at midnight.” She winks. “That’d let ‘em know ‘ow you felt.”

“Oi, fer fuck’s sake, NOBODY DOES THAT.” He says a little too loudly.

“ _I’m_ gonna.” She says smugly, not skipping beat at his outburst.

Her redhead moves across the room in a slinky number, Lena’s eyes following with all the adoration of a newlywed.

Junkrat gags.

“ _I’m_ not.” He says firmly.

Lena looks unconvinced.

“Fuck off, I’m _not_!”

“Ok luv. Just remember what I say. Showing is easier than telling sometimes.”

“Roight, thanks mum. I’ll just remember that then.”

 

11:48 pm

Junkrat paws over his detonator, checking the wires more times than he’s ever checked a bomb, ‘scuse me, _firework_ in his life. His fingers fidget, tapping on his prosthetic knee, running through his thinning hair. It’s been growing back since the doc started giving him those fancy shots, there are fuzzy patches in between the longer crazy tufts that he’s worked out of their carefully combed state.

It wasn’t like he didn’t _like_ her.

I mean, she was an alright sheila. He guessed.

She was… kind of fun to be around.

It hadn’t started as much.

A few quips there. An innuendo here. Nothin’ worse than he did with anybody else.

Course, nobody else joked back. Nobody else rose to the bait and fired back quite like she did, a mischievous grin plastered on her face as she gave as good as she got.

She didn’t take his shit too seriously. She reminded him of Roadhog that way. It made her easier to be around. The others look at him cross-eyed every time he laughs, like maybe this’ll be the time he blows them all up for the fun of it (not that he hadn’t considered it at least once or twice.)

(…Maybe more like a dozen times but who’s counting?)

Junkrat ground his teeth and fingered the wires again.

It was… nice to have somebody who didn’t treat him like he was one of his own ticking time bombs.

Not that it mattered. Nope, not that it mattered if anybody liked him. Fuck ‘em all to hell, that’s what he says. And fuck her right off too.

‘Course… there was the thing with Mad Max.

He and Hod had a tradition. Started on a long night in the Outback when the voices kept getting’ too loud to sleep and the dark had been a little too dark. Hog had pulled, outa some magic bag, an ancient DVD player.

They’d watched all three Mad Max films at the highest possible volume the little player could manage. It had kept the dark at bay, and even though they knew, deep down, that they were the villains in the story, they each were Max for a few minutes there. Unshakable, unbreakable.

Ah, it was a good night.

So naturally, after the first month of bein’ cooped up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, when the walls started closin’ in a little, they commandeered the recreation room by force. Shut all the lights off. Blasted the volume. And worshiped in silence.

That is, until she’d seen fit to come in. Flippin’ on the lights like she couldn’t hear a damn cinematic experience in progress.

He’d been prepared to yell at her. Hell, hadn’t he thrown a beer can at her?

But she recognized the tail end of Thunderdome like she’d seen it a million times.

“Oh shit, is this Mad Max?” She’d asked excitedly, just as the kids snuck into Bartertown for the twelve millionth time.

Junkrat’s angry shout had died in his throat.

“Yes.” Roadhog had supplied for him in the awkward silence.

“Boss!” She’d said, jumping over the back of the sofa to join them. “What’d you think of the new one?”

They had stared at her uncomprehending.

“This… _is_ … the newest one?” Junkrat had said, pointing at the screen.

She’d stared back at them. Then her eyes had gone wide, crazy-wide. Joyously wide. Her hands had flown to her mouth and she sort of… curled up on herself.

“Oh. Oh my _god_.” She’d said.

She’d leapt off the sofa again, almost tripping over herself in her excitement.

“Don’t move!” She said as she ran out.

“Movie ain’t over yet, ya crazy sheila.” Junkrat muttered, cracking another beer. “ain’t going anywhere.”

She’d skidded back into the room just as the credits rolled, a thumb drive clutched in her hand.

“Ok, you have to see this.” She said, plugging the drive in and claiming the remote from Roadhog’s yielding hand.

“It is a masterpiece.” She said breathlessly.

Her excitement was contagious, and Junkrat started to giggle as she settled in between him and Roadhog on the couch. He was feeling indulgent just now, sure he’d take a crack at whatever she was peddlin’.

“Whatever you say, sheila.” He said, feeling bold enough to drape his arm languidly over her shoulder. “Just cling to ‘ole Junkrat for the scary parts, huh?”

She shoved him off.

“This is serious business.” She said, her sober face not masking the delight in her eyes. “Pay attention.”

He’d laughed. Settled back as she pressed play. Eyes growing bigger and bigger as the movie went on. ‘Witness Me’ permanently branded across his brain. And then Nux…

He’d fucking _cried_.

And all she’d done as the credits rolled was patted his prosthetic knee and gently said, “I know” and “Yes” when he tremulously asked if they could watch it again.

And held his hand when Nux…

Stupid fuckin’ sheila and her stupid fuckin’ movie-crashin’. Stupid red lips and flowery hair and-

“ _Fuck_ me!” He screams as he accidently rips the wires out of the detonator for the fifth time. “fuck me fuck me fuck me!”

 

11:52 pm

It would have been easier, strangely, if all she’d asked for was a fuck.

Junkrat was used to fucking. Hell, everybody fucked in the Outback. What with radiation got everybody shooting blanks, and dying left and right, what’s to hold ya back? Just find yourself your preferred flavor of whatever and have at it. A good night might have prompted him to pay a sheila to stick around for another, but usually they all split before the sun was up the next day.

There wasn’t much room for that soft shit. Ya fucked to get your rocks off and then moved on til you could fuck again. No tender hand-holding. No shy first kisses. No good morning kisses or goodnight kisses.  No ‘just because’ kisses. No ‘I love you’ kisses.

Kissing came _with_ the fucking, of course, but he can’t remember if he’s ever _just_ kissed somebody, just because he wanted to, just because he liked them.

Not that fucking was on the table. She’s said kissing. Just kissing. Kiss. Singular.

Maybe he’d just kissed? When he was younger… couldn’t reach back that far. Too much juice and radiation.

It might be nice, he thinks. Keeping something like that going. Just kissing ‘stead of always fuck-and-run. Might be nice…

Nah, no sheila’d wanna stay around for a Junker like him. He’s a force of nature, damnit. Can’t be contained, _won’t_ be contained! Ain’t no prissy suit sheila gonna tie him down for nothing no sir.

…Might be nice, though.

 

11:57 pm

“You hiding from me?”

Junkrat jumps a mile as she appears at his elbow.

“I was checkin’ my fireworks, thank you very much.” He snaps. “I have a _very_ important job to do.”

“Mmm.” She says non-committedly and leans against the wall, watching him work.

He turns his back to her so he won’t have to look at her bemused smile and those disgusting, beautiful red lips.

Not going to. Nope.

 

11:58 pm

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She says and he’s disappointed, maybe, in how easily she says it.

He rises and crosses to her, not sure if he’s mad or happy that she’s given him a way out.

Turn back now, ye lost souls. Turn back and be damned.

“Who says I didn’t wanna?” He finds himself saying.

She raises her eyebrows and looks a little too smug.

“No one.” She replies. “I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”

 

11:59:07 pm

“Oi, I’ll do whatever I _like_.” He says hotly.

He’s shifting from foot to foot now, his leg creaking like the ancient machinery it is.

“Good.” She says with a nod.

People are starting to wander out onto the balcony with them in preparation for the fireworks. Junkrat looks around and sees too many watching eyes.

Shit. _Shit_.

 

11:59:20pm

“Don’t you need to set that up?”

“I _know_ how to rig my own damn _timer_ , sheila, thank you very much.”

 

11:59:34pm

“Really, if you don’t want to, it’s fine. McCree’s offered.” She says nonchalantly and begins to walk away.

He grabs her arm a little too tightly and brings her back to him.

They’re very close now. She’s smiling with that dangerous know-it-all look in her eyes again.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to.” He says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I just haven’t decided if I will yet.”

 

11:59:45pm

“And… I’ll be damned if I’ll let McCree put his nasty, cigar-suckin lips on you.”

“So, you are going to.”

“…”

 

11:59:52pm

“Eight!” the others yell gleefully.

“Better make up your mind, Jamison.” She says.

Jamison. She called him that when she asked him, too. He’d forgotten.

 “Seven!”

“Jamison?”

“I’m thinkin’.”

“Six!”

“Think faster.”

“Five!”

Their faces are an inch apart and he’s staring at her lips like they’re forbidden fruit. She looks both nervous and elated at the same time.

“Four!”

He’s shaking. He’s sweating. Was it usually this hot in Gibralatar this time of year?

“Three!”

She snakes her free hand up around the back of his neck. He’s still gripping her arm like she’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Two!”

“Clock’s ticking, Jami-“

“Shut _up_ sheila, you know you’ve got m-“

“One!”

KABOOM!

 

12:00:12am

The explosion knocks them backwards across the balcony. They land in a heap, gripping each other, her head tucked against his shoulder. They roll upright, eyes wide in shock.

Oh, there are fireworks alright. Coming right out of the very, very large inferno on the rooftop. The other spectators are rising, some crying, some already dashing off to no doubt start the efforts to put out the lovely, glaring blaze before it takes the whole base down.

There are sirens from somewhere.

“Oops.” Junrak says quietly, but he’s staring at it with awe, a manic giggle working up the back of his throat.

Quite proud of that one, actually.

A sound cuts through the roar of the fire and the whine of the fireworks.

She’s laughing.

He turns to look at her and she’s _laughing_.

She’s got scrapes on her elbows, her knees, and a bruise is already starting to form on her forehead where she collided with him. Her skirts rucked up almost to her waist. But she’s watching the ‘works go up, her wishy-washy, stupid, gorgeous eyes going orange in the firelight and laughing.

She meets his gaze and her eyes flick down to his mouth. Suddenly it’s hot again and it has nothing to do with the fire.

“JUNKRAT!” Somebody bellows over the noise.

He can’t tell if its 76 or the monkey or McCree but it’s MAD whoever it is. He cringes.

She laughs again.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” She says.

She takes his chin in her hands and pulls him forward.

Plants a kiss near the left corner of his mouth.

Not on his lips. Not where he was expecting. Dreading. Wanting.

A slow, lingering, ‘come back for more kiss’.

She pulls back and rises with a smile.

“Happy New Year, Jamison.”

Saunters off slowly as he stares, slack-jawed, heart thudding, those awful, beautiful legs taking her further and further away. Like the sun is setting. Like the fire’s dying.

“Hooley dooley, sheila.” He breathes. “ _Fuck_.”


End file.
